“What are you doing up at this hour?” Julian said, still moving forward, but slower, like the floor was slippery. He didn’t have a shirt on and she could see an ugly bruise on his shoulder, surrounding a crescent-shaped pattern of little scabs. Zippy was a hero.
“You’re feverish, poor kid,” he said. Was the gas can held a little higher now, like he was getting ready to throw it? Flames rose behind him. They had voices all of a sudden, like a crowd getting louder and louder, a big, hot crowd.
“Stop,” Ruby said. Confused sounds rose from below.
“Would you really kill a human being, Ruby, a living thing?” Julian said. “You’ll have nightmares the rest of your life.” He had a sympathetic smile on his face, like they were friends.
“I see a gold circle inside a red one,” Ruby said, feeling the bowstring against her lips.
The smile vanished. More noise now, on the stairs; and a split second later a big boom from Adam’s room that shook the house. Julian threw the gas can, gas suddenly igniting in midair like liquid fire, and sprang at her, so quick. Ruby saw a gold circle inside a red one, really did. And then came the string’s little kiss good-bye.
Her aim was true. Julian stopped, stopped like she wanted, stopped like she told him.
“Nightmares,” he said.
Then life left his eyes; all kinds of expressions, like flicking through a deck of scary cards, the last one puzzled.
Gas was everywhere, flames in Adam’s room, Brandon’s, the hall. Ruby stepped over Julian into Brandon’s room. The downstairs cop came charging up, gun drawn.
“In the attic,” Ruby said. She had to shout over the voice of the fire. “They’re in the attic.”
More cops. Brandon sat up, head all bloody. “You all right?” she said.
“Yeah.”
But he needed her help to get up. They went into the hall. Big flames now, spreading from Adam’s room. Lots of yelling, lots of sirens. A cop with enormous arms stood on a chair, banging at the painted-in hatch cover with all his strength. Something cracked. The hatch opened. He pulled himself through. Then came grunting sounds from above, and a mummy appeared, feet first, wrapped all in duct tape except for the nose. Other cops took the mummy, carried it downstairs. And then a second mummy, a little bigger. The mummies made sounds.
Something roared in Adam’s room. A giant flame burst through his wall. D’Amario pushed past a bunch of cops. “Get the kids out of here. Everybody out.” He lifted Ruby in his arms, carried her toward the stairs.
“Any quick thing you want to grab?” he said as they went by her room.
“Don’t open the door.”
O
ut on Robin Road, Dad, Mom, Brandon, and Ruby watched the firemen save some of the house—the garage, kitchen, mudroom, a little more. Mom and Dad were bawling their eyes out.
“We’re sorry,” Mom said.
“So sorry,” said Dad.
“For what?” said Brandon.
“It’s insured, right, Dad?” said Ruby. He was in the business, after all. Mom and Dad mixed in some laughing with the crying. They all kind of hugged. Ruby did her crying later, when the nightmares came.
D
ad had written an excellent policy for 37 Robin Road, covering complete rebuilding costs including the renovation, plus a little padding he’d snuck in. Gram lent him money to pay off the Codexco debt. He got a job with John Hancock in Hartford.
Mom went to work for Larry at Skyway, made more money. There were changes between Mom and Dad, hard to understand. First came finding Dad sleeping on the couch if Ruby happened to get up early; then lots of talking by Mom and Dad in low voices; after that a kiss once in a while around the house.
Brandon took the SAT again and got in the fifty-ninth percentile. He took it once more, not hung over, and made the ninety-first.
They didn’t find Mom’s Jeep until the Strombolis came home from Florida and opened their garage. Mom’s gray coat with the fur collar and Dad’s leather jacket were inside.
No reptilian body ever turned up, a big concern to the neighbors. A real estate agent used it to explain away a disappointing offer over on Poplar Drive.
Unka Death remained in a coma.
D’Amario sent divers back to the pond twice but they didn’t find Zippy. When the weather warmed up, Ruby went in herself, did no better.
When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
Ruby kept an eye out for Zippy.
After some months of that, Brandon came home with a dog from the pound. Ruby had nothing to do with it. This dog didn’t look at all like Zippy, was very ugly and kind of fat. One day when they were alone, he came up to her room with an unopened can of Sprite in his mouth, tail wagging. He wasn’t ugly, really, more homely. She named him Watson.
About the Author
Peter Abrahams is the author of ten previous novels, including
Crying Wolf
,
A Perfect Crime
,
The Fan
,
Revolution #9
, and
Lights Out
, which was nominated for an Edgar Award for best novel. He lives on Cape Cod with his wife and four children.
A Ballantine Book
Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group
Copyright © 2002 by Pas de Deux
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by The Ballantine Publishing Group,
a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada
by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Ballantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:
Abrahams, Peter, 1947–
The tutor / Peter Abrahams.
p. cm.
I. Title.
PS3551.B64 T88 2002
813′.54—dc21 2002019537
eISBN: 978-0-345-45955-8
v3.0